


Driver with wings

by gowerstreet



Series: Recruitment of the Half-Seen [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A new job, Cabin Pressure AU, Cabinlock, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/pseuds/gowerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This occurs about three months after 'Anthea'. Mycroft has settled in, although he is still recuiting members of his support team. More to follow!</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. A little Knowledge is useful

**Author's Note:**

> This occurs about three months after 'Anthea'. Mycroft has settled in, although he is still recuiting members of his support team. More to follow!

He was running later than he wished, as a taxi pulled up at his command. “Diogenes Club, please.”  
“Certainly, Sir.” Mycroft peered at the fragment of the driver’s face that the rear mirror offered. The driver caught him looking and smiled back. “Busy day?” he asked. He was attractive, after a style. He could almost be a ginger Sherlock, albeit minus the snark and aggression.  
“They always are,” replied Mycroft. This earned a nod of recognition from the driver. “You’re rather on the young side for a cabbie,” he continued. He watched a flush paint the back of the man’s neck.  
“I inherited the cab from my father. He didn’t have much else to leave. I passed the Knowledge several years ago.”  
“A commendable achievement when you’d barely be out of your teens.”  
The driver relaxed. “Twenty three, actually.”  
“And it suits you.” The younger man gave him a brittle smile.  
“Being my own boss is good. Keeps me housed and fed most months. Doesn’t leave much time for anything, though.”  
They turned a corner. A small plastic object slid from one side of the windscreen to another. A little plane, carefully painted yellow.  
“How far are you from getting your CPL?"  
“What? How did you know?”  
“Your textbooks are stuffed into the door, which suggests that you study and revise in your spare moments. There’s an in date permit for Biggin Hill in the right bottom corner of the windscreen and your left thumb bears the classic imprint of a mid-range aerial gearstick.”  
The younger man shrugged. “It’s something to aim for. I don’t intend to a cabbie all my life.”  
“Interesting.” Mycroft peered at the driver ID and typed the name into his phone. The resulting search would take longer than he would have wished, but it would be sufficiently thorough. He was just about to slide it into his pocket when he was thrown violently from his seat. The glass partition flew up towards him. He registered the impact as well as the politely frantic voice . “Sir? Sir?”

A painful, piercing light shining in his eyes woke Mycroft. He wanted someone to get rid of it, but all that came out was “Uhh.”  
“Sir, sir, it’s all right.” Mycroft turned his head towards the voice. The driver smiled at him. He struggled to remember his name. It was in his phone. Phone… Phone!  
The young man sat on the opposite stretcher, holding a coolpack to his left wrist. He tried to smile, even though it clearly hurt. “I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do. We got rear-ended by a stolen car, then side-swiped by a HGV. I guess we’re lucky to be alive, given the wreckage that’s left.” He thought about the pile of ex-taxi just out of view. “The police have taken your stuff for safe keeping, but I think your phone's beyond repair, I'm afraid." His eyes focused on something outside. "The paramedics are back. I'll tell them you're awake." The cabbie shrugged off his blanket and scrambled out, all elbows and awkwardness, in search of assistance. Mycroft closed his eyes against the light, realising that the thing that hurt most was his conscience. He was sure his staffing budget could run to a driver, especially one with the Knowledge.


	2. The first five minutes of a new life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is quite a remarkable offer, Sir."
> 
> "No less than you deserve."

Anthea was already comfortably established in her job when Martin arrived for his first day. She acknowledged his presence with a brief evaluating stare before motioning to the office door. “Mr Holmes is through there.” 

“Erm, thanks,” he stuttered, and headed through.

"Good morning, Crieff." Mycroft stood stiffly behind his desk and held out a hand to be shaken. He noted the cut of the borrowed suit and the much polished shoes. An employee of his deserved better.

"Good to see you again, Sir. How are you feeling?"

"Much improved, thank you." They sat down. Mycroft handed over a manila file. "This is your itinerary for the next fortnight. As you will see, the next week will focus on training and orientation to prepare you for your future role, including an opportunity to sit for your CPL as soon as practicably possible. This will be a demanding position, as reflected in your proposed salary and benefits."

Martin took a moment to flick through the papers and blinked rapidly. "This is quite a remarkable offer, Sir."

"No less than you deserve. Anthea will ensure that all the relevant paperwork is completed." He passed over a surprisingly nondescript phone. "Please ensure that this remains with you, night and day."

“Thank you. I won’t let you down, Sir.”

Mycroft nodded. “I would not have selected you if had thought that would be the case. I will speak to you later.” He opened his laptop and began work.

Martin slipped out of the office and hovered in front of Anthea’s desk. Why did she have to be so damn attractive? Her professional confidence and immaculate suit were sufficiently unnerving as things stood. He coughed politely. She reluctantly abandoned her Blackberry.

“Ah yes, Mr Crieff. Please check these papers and sign where appropriate. You are required to return them by the end of the day. A car will take you to Spencer Hart for your initial fittings in twenty minutes.”

“Erm, thank you, Miss….”

“Anthea will do. You can sit over there.” She motioned to an empty desk in the corner, a faint smile brushing across her face once he had passed her. He was rather sweet in an awkward way, she thought.


	3. Suitable Recompense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft demonstrates his appreciation of his newest employee.

“Sir?”  
“Good afternoon, Crieff.” Mycroft acknowledged him with a brief nod.  
“You asked me to see me, Sir.”  
“I would appreciate your opinion on a particular matter. Walk with me.”  
“Of course.”  
Mycroft was uncharacteristically silent as he led Martin down to the secure garage. He pressed in a code and the door swung open. Lights flickered on as they walked towards the exit ramp. Martin recognised the sleek lines of the Jaguar he had parked earlier, along with a vaguely familiar shape concealed by a sheet. A hint of chrome bumper peeked out.

Martin shot a quick glance at Mycroft. “May I?” he asked.

“Be my guest.” He watched as Martin darted over and flicked away the dust sheet with a gasp. “I felt that it was suitable recompense, in the light of your exemplary behaviour,” continued Mycroft.

“Thank you, Sir.” Martin walked around the taxi, taking in every inch. He’d never expected to see his beloved car again.  
Mycroft held out the keys. “GERT 1YS remains yours. She has responded well to the repair and modifications, which include bulletproof glass, concealed titanium bodywork, along with built-in GPS and a secure Wi-Fi hub.”  
Martin shook his head in disbelief. “But why do this to a taxi? There must be thousands of cars more suited to your purpose.”  
“Perhaps, but who notices a taxi, especially in London? Much of my role and therefore yours requires absolute discretion and anonymity. A restored GERTI suits this purpose admirably.”  
Martin grinned and opened the driver’s door with all the joy of a five year old on Christmas Day. All was as it had been prior to the crash, down to the plastic aeroplane balanced on the dashboard and the much repaired copy of his CPL handbook.  
Mycroft sat down on the refurbished back seats. He caught Martin’s delighted glance in the rear view mirror.” I have a series of errands which should help you two to become reacquainted.  
“Where to first, Sir?”  
“The Diogenes. One other thing, Crieff.”  
“Yes Sir?”  
“Please dim the wattage of your smile. I can appreciate your joyous mood, but your visage is bordering on the deranged. Please practise your internal smile.”  
“Of course, Sir.” That would take some doing.


	4. The weight of an envelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seventh time lucky?

"Hmm. Much better," she murmured. Martin hadn't as much as seen her glance in his direction that day.  
"Thank you. Mostly down to the tailoring, you will find," he replied as he passed her desk. A modest glimmer of joy bloomed in his head.  
She swivelled around to face him, a windowed envelope in her hand. "This arrived by courier about half an hour ago."  
"Very good of you," he replied, thrusting it into his inside pocket before heading into Mycroft's office. Anthea pretended not to watch his back profile until the door obstructed the view. Really, she scolded herself. Get a bloody grip, woman. He was a very ordinary man in an expensive suit. Nothing particularly special or unusual. And yet?  
Mycroft materialised in front of her desk. "Clear my meetings for the next forty eight hours, and meet me in the Jaguar in eleven minutes. Bring your overnight bag and passport."  
"Yes Sir." She sent off the required emails before preparing to leave.  
Anthea was waiting in the car a good five minutes ahead of her boss. Creiff was sat in the driver's seat, turning his envelope over and over. She watched his face via the rear view mirror with gentle amusement. "It won't open itself, unless we've fallen through into the Rowling universe."  
"Not something to joke about.”  
"Opening the envelope will not change a thing. It's how you react to its contents. It’s good news, by the way.”  
He shot her a poisonous look. “Tampering with the Royal Mail is a criminal offence,” he snapped.  
“It’s only your CPL notification,” she replied. “Who do you think processed the relevant paperwork? The Tooth Fairy?”  
“Those results are supposed to be confidential.”  
“And they are,” she responded coolly. “But the data passed through my hands. The result is not in doubt, only your actual grade, which remains a secret between yourself, your god and the exam board.”  
“Oh.” The envelope didn’t stand a chance Martin dispatched it humanely and left it to flutter into pieces onto his lap. His hands shook with the weight of the information in his hands. “I-I can’t read this,” he admitted.  
A wave of guilt washed over her. Not good, Anthea. “Would you like me to do it?” She extended her hand.  
“If you would. “He handed it over his shoulder.  
“Thank you.” His eyes remained fixed on her face via the rear view mirror as she unfolded the letter. “What was the grade?”  
“Ninety seven per cent. Congratulations .”  
A deranged, disbelieving grin spread across his face. “Hell. Seventh time lucky.”  
She handed the letter back “It’s amazing what can be achieved when other distractions are removed.”  
“Clearly.” He spotted a figure approaching at a swift pace. His face became a visage of professionalism.  
The car door swung open. Mycroft slid in next to Anthea, his face a refined shade of thunder. “ London City Airport. We are booked on the one o’clock Zurich flight to stave off the worst ideas of Mr Osborne. The sooner I can hammer basic financial arithmetic into him, the better. A flying monkey with a hangover would show more proficiency. “  
“Yes, Sir.” The car moved smoothly away. They lapsed into respective silences until the traffic halted near Westminster Abbey. Mycroft drew an identity card from a side pocket and passed it forward.  
“I believe this is yours. Please accept my heartiest congratulations.”  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
“And not before time, either.” Mycroft’s face relaxed into a smile for the first time that day.


End file.
